


Your friends are a fate that befell me

by Sachete



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, BDSM, Boyd is his human, Casual Sex, Cockwarming, Collars, Come Swallowing, Creampie, Dom/sub, Group Sex, Human Furniture, Master/Pet, Multi, Multiple Partners, Ned is a vampire, Oral Sex, Riding, Subspace, Vaginal Fingering, gagging, i guess?, ned uses boyd like a footstool is what i'm saying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 05:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19370383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sachete/pseuds/Sachete
Summary: Ned shares Boyd with some friends.





	Your friends are a fate that befell me

**Author's Note:**

> The moschicane discord enabled this so take any grievances up with them.
> 
> Ned is an old and powerful vampire. Boyd is his obedient pet. That's all you have to know.

Ned is on his fourth glass of blood-spiked Merlot, and Boyd's arms are going numb.

The room is warm and inviting, the air full of tipsy laughter and stories from centuries ago. The conversations started to blur together a good while ago, and Boyd has gotten the hang of tuning out most of it. These guests aren't new, and neither are their stories, but everyone reacts politely and appropriately as if hearing them for the first time. Luciano will always titter on about how difficult it is to find "good clothes" these days, while Ned and Mihael will nod sagely in agreement. Ivette will scold the three of them for their reluctance to take full advantage of modern technology, namely the Internet and its infinite pleasures, and they will all agree to disagree.

Ned uncrosses and recrosses his legs at the ankles, and Boyd winces. He could have at least taken off his _shoes_.

Boyd does not know their names because of any introductions, but has rather familiarized himself by listening to their conversations. Mihael is the boldest of Ned's guests and paid dearly for it several months ago while testing a boundary. He is seated on the plush velvet couch farthest away from Ned. Next to him is Ivette, who tends to be the most up-to-date with modern trends. Boyd hasn't decided if this is because she is the youngest of the bunch, or because her methods for acquiring meals necessitate being savvy with things like dating apps and the dark web. Luciano is seated in a wing-backed chair, and only pipes up if it is to complain about the current state of the world.

And then there is Ned, or Edmund as his stuck-up friends call him--host of this party, head of the house, and master of Boyd. Despite being the owner of a rather luxurious ottoman that Boyd can _see_ in the corner of the room, Ned has decided that Boyd's back is much more comfortable.

Boyd's attention has gone a bit fuzzy and floaty. Maybe it's the blood pooling in his arms and legs from holding this position for so long, or maybe it's the warmth of the fireplace choking the room around him, or maybe it's that being ignored and not allowed to speak for the past several hours has had an effect on his head. In any case, he startles when Ned finally says his name.

"Pet Boyd, I asked you a question."

Boyd tucks his head, chin to chest. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't hear."

Ned tsks above him. "I was just asking my guests if they would like a turn with you tonight, but if you're not paying attention, then perhaps you shouldn't get a say in the matter."

"Such an inattentive pet you have, Edmund," remarks Mihael. "You should beat him more."

"I am perfectly capable of training my dear pet without your input, friend Mihael."

Something changes in the room. Ivette stands. Boyd can imagine her putting a hand on Mihael's shoulder. "Now, Mihael, Edmund is being tremendously gracious in offering to share. You should be more grateful to our host." Her skirts rustle when she walks over to Ned. Boyd has not been instructed to look up, and so he continues to stare at the rug. "May I pet him?" asks Ivette.

Ned chuckles and removes his feet at last. "Go right ahead. He doesn't bite."

She bends to place a hand on Boyd's head. She ruffles his hair, scritches his scalp with stiletto nails before moving to his neck, where she lingers. Her touch gives the distinct feeling of being inspected. Examined. Boyd shivers.

"I'm glad you take such good care of him," Ivette says. "I'm of the opinion that pets ought to be spoiled, you know."

"Yes, I know."

Ivette hums. She thumbs the bandage on Boyd's neck that covers the wound left from Ned's last feeding. Without thinking, Boyd leans into the pressure. Any distraction from the television static in his limbs is welcome. "I take it your invitation is still open, despite Mihael's rudeness?"

"It is." Boyd can picture Ned's Cheshire grin.

"I'll help myself, then." Her hand leaves his neck so she can stand to her full height again. Her heeled boot nudges Boyd's belly, stiff leather against soft bare skin. "Sit up for me, sweet thing."

Boyd rises and pivots to face Ivette. Pins stab his hands and feet, but he resists the urge to shake feeling back into them. He's been punished for less. She hikes her full skirts to her hips, revealing fine lacy garters and silken underthings. Her pelvis sways forward. An invitation. A command.

"I take it you haven't forgotten how to pleasure a woman, Pet Boyd," snips Ned from behind him.

He hasn't. "No, sir."

"Then do it."

He does. He leans in, mouth open, tongue pressing flat against her clothed cunt. He laves at her, tasting the hint of slick that spots her panties, adds more to the dampness with his saliva, tongues at her hardening clit. He points his tongue and licks up and into as if to breach her through the soaking, translucent silk. More of her slick is dripping, now, causing the panties to glide effortlessly against her clit with every movement. He closes his lips around her and sucks, the obscene noise of it seeming to echo through the sitting room. His ears burn, and his cock twitches.

"Go on. Use your fingers, too," she orders.

He feels the heavy gazes of the others boring into him as he goes to slip her panties down her thighs, revealing her baby-smooth cunt, flushed and shiny with slick and saliva. Directly, this time, his mouth finds her clit and rubs and sucks while he brings his fingers to her slit to get them wet. She pushes down when he presses his middle and ring fingers inside. He beckons, searching for the spongy bundle of nerves that will make her fuck his face, and knows he's found it when she clenches, gasps, and lets go of her skirts with one hand so she can grip the back of his head to yank him even more firmly against her.

"Look how hard he's getting," quips Luciano.

"He loves it," agrees Mihael. "Is he doing a good job, Ivette?"

"He is, he is, oh!" Her knees are wobbling now, and Boyd redoubles his efforts, fingers thrusting hard into her. He can nearly taste her orgasm on his tongue. "He's sloppy, but such a good boy, yes, yes--!"

Her cunt clutches around his fingers in quaking pulses, everything suddenly so much wetter, her cum dripping down his chin, his hand, and he fucks her through it until she utters a rare whimper. He eases off her clit, slows his thrusts, and focuses more on lapping up the cum dripping down her thighs.

"Oh, he cleans up after himself!"

"Of course he does." Ned's voice is closer than Boyd anticipated, hot breath right in his ear, eliciting a full-body shudder when he pushes Ivette's hand out of the way to stroke his hair. "I've trained him well."

Ivette giggles and pulls her hips away, Boyd's fingers slipping out of her with a wet sound. Ned strokes his cheek when he licks those clean, too. She goes, weak-kneed, to her seat on the couch, and slumps next to Mihael, who rises.

"I want him next."

"No. You go last for implying I don't know how to train my own pet."

"I was giving _advice_ ," Mihael snarls, baring teeth.

"Keep it up and you won't get to use him at all. Sit down."

"But--"

" _Down_."

If Boyd didn't know better, he'd think the force of Ned's voice alone is what knocks Mihael back onto the couch. A twinge of fear mixed with pride and smugness bubbles in his gut. Boyd is _desirable_ , and Ned knows it. Ned is _protecting_ him from Mihael's impulsiveness. Ned is letting them use him but it will be okay because Ned will take care of him when this is all over.

"Go on, then," Ned says. "Luciano's been very patient."

Boyd still has not been instructed to stand, and Luciano makes no movement to go to him, so Boyd crawls to him on hands and knees. Again, he feels Ned's stare on his back, knows he must be watching his muscles flex, must be watching his cock bob heavy and hard between his legs.

He reaches Luciano's seat to find the vampire has already gotten out his dick and is giving himself slow, deliberate strokes. Boyd pauses when he's positioned between his legs, cheek resting on his thigh, looking up at this man's face. He almost seems bored.

"I hope you didn't tire yourself out on Ivette over there," he says. giving Boyd's cheek a light smack with his cock. "I've heard good things about that mouth of yours."

It's a struggle to keep his expression unchanged, but Boyd manages. His dick isn't as big as Ned's, he thinks with a smug internal smirk. He takes it in his mouth easily, lets it hit the back of his throat, and swallows around it a few times. He'd take more, but Luciano keeps his grip around the base, and Boyd's lips meet his hand instead of his pelvis. Fine. That's his prerogative.

Boyd expects gentle, lazy encouragement when Luciano's hand rests on his skull. What he doesn't expect is for that hand to twine in his hair and force him _down_ , sudden and fast so Boyd chokes. Luciano pulls him off to let him breathe for an instant before pushing him back down and setting a rough pace. He fucks his throat and doesn't stop when Boyd gags around him, and certainly doesn't stop when traitorous tears roll down his cheeks. Boyd's hips heave forward uselessly, humping empty air, cock aching for some kind of stimulation, but he knows if he touches himself he'll be punished. So he keeps his jaw slack, tries to keep his throat relaxed, and waits for this to be over. He takes it, knowing Ned is watching his throat bulge with cock, knowing he'll be allowed to cum later, knowing he'll be praised and rewarded for good behavior.

Objectively, Luciano doesn't last very long, but it feels like an eternity passes before he's holding his head down and cumming down Boyd's throat. Boyd milks his cock until Luciano tries to pull away in sharp jerks, then sets to cleaning him as he did Ivette.

"Does he live up to reputation, friend Luciano?" Ned asks, sounding faraway and hazy through the blood pulsing in Boyd's ears.

Luciano hums, swats Boyd away, and tucks himself back into his pants. "He is delightful, Edmund. You should let us play with him more often."

Ned chuckles. "I would if he weren't so fragile. You know mortals. You have to cherish the good ones." His eyes flicker to Boyd, locking for an instant and betraying the unspoken meaning beneath the banter. He smirks, fond. He pats his thigh. "Stand up and come here, pet."

Boyd finally stands. He's hopelessly hard and feels somehow more exposed now than he has all night. At least when he was kneeling his erection wasn't as visible to everyone in the room. Now he's completely bare and on display as he crosses the room in a few short strides to stand before the man who owns him.

Ned appraises him with a wry smile. Boyd can only imagine how wrecked he must look, how totally debauched he seems after only two partners having their way with him. There's no way his slicked-back hair is in-tact. His lips must be swollen. The tears he shed while choking on Luciano's cock must have dried on his cheeks, because he doesn't remember wiping them away. And still, there are two more men to please before he's allowed to rest.

"Get my cock out, pet," instructs Ned, legs spread. Boyd unbuckles, unbuttons, unzips, and pulls Ned's cock free of his underwear. He gives it a slow, appreciative stroke. Watches, entranced, the fat, flushed cockhead emerge when he pulls back his foreskin.

He hears a noise of protest from behind him--from Mihael, unsurprisingly--when Ned says, "Sit here on my lap. Facing the room."

"Edmund!"

"Good gracious, Mihael, would you control yourself?" sighs Ivette.

"What, you thought I'd let you fuck his ass?" Ned sneers. Boyd is too busy clambering into Ned's lap and lowering himself onto Ned's cock to pay attention to how Mihael must look right now, but he's sure he's baring teeth. (He's clawing into the couch, too, if Ivette's "Mihael! The couch!" is anything to go by.) His muscles have tightened a bit since he prepped himself a few hours ago, before any of the guests arrived, but he's still wet enough that Ned's cock slides in easy. He sighs. It's like... well, not to be cliche, but the way it fills and stretches him, the familiarity of _this_ cock and no-one else's--it's like coming home. He's glad he has Ned to himself in this regard. He braces himself on the armrests to bounce on Ned's dick, but Ned holds his hips down before he can start.

"You just sit tight, pet," Ned says. "My cock was getting a little cold is all." His lips press into Boyd's back and, quieter now, he murmurs against his skin, "Mihael is next. Are you all right?"

Boyd starts to nod before remembering his words.

"Yes," he croaks out, broken and hoarse. But it's verbal confirmation.

"All right, then." He places one last kiss to Boyd's shoulder before addressing Mihael. "I suppose I'll reward your impatience, Mihael. Quickly now, before I change my mind."

Mihael doesn't need to be told twice. He almost blurs around the edges with how quickly he stands, crosses the room, and takes his place in front of Boyd. Boyd glances around him to see the gouges he's left in the couch cushion.

" _Finally_." He takes himself out. He's cut, maybe slightly bigger than Luciano. Boyd winces when Mihael grabs him by the hair with both hands and begins a repeat performance of Luciano's second movement without the preamble of licks and sucks. If it wasn't clear enough from his behavior so far, it's obvious now that Mihael sees Boyd as nothing but a warm fuck-hole. He is a teenager fucking a pocket pussy and not a century-old vampire gagging a comparatively fragile human. He doesn't care that fresh tears are streaming down his face. He doesn't care that Boyd needs to _breathe_. His head is swimming from the lack of oxygen, vision going starry around the edges and mixing with the tears. He's leaned so far forward to take Mihael's cock that he's almost falling off of Ned's dick, and he scrabbles at the armrests for purchase and clenches around Ned's cock in his ass. Ned grunts behind him. Fortunately, Ned holds his thighs so he remains firmly seated in his lap.

It shouldn't be surprising that Mihael doesn't hold back any sounds. Whatever comes to mind, he utters, be they grunts and groans, or a steady stream of berating, "Fucking bitch, fucking take it, filthy slut." Boyd's brain is so thoroughly elsewhere that the insults don't land with any heat. His focus is too divided between having his throat fucked raw and holding onto Ned's cock to pay any attention to the venom seeping into Mihael's words. "Dirty, cumbucket waste of space, this is what you deserve." One hand leaves his hair to wrap around his throat. His hold presses against Boyd's feeding wound, and the old, dulled pain makes Boyd squirm.

"Can't believe no-one's hurt you tonight. Everything about you is begging for it."

Ned's grip tightens on Boyd's thighs. "Friend Mihael, if you cause any harm to my pet, I will be glad to reacquaint your face with my ceiling. I believe it's missed you."

Boyd is sure that if he looked up, he would be able to see the string of electric eye contact between Ned and Mihael, but as has been established for quite a while, Boyd is too busy. Mihael eventually growls his reluctant agreement and keeps fucking Boyd's throat, thrusts getting more and more erratic as the seconds pass, and soon he's coming down Boyd's throat in thick pulses. Boyd swallows him down like the good pet he's trying to be. He grinds down onto Ned's cock despite the instructions to "sit tight," but Ned doesn't punish him.

"That's a good boy, pet," Ned purrs. "Good boy. Clean him up, now--you don't need me to tell you to do that."

He doesn't, of course. He laps up every drop of cum he can get his tongue on. Mihael steps backwards, out of reach, teasing him. Boyd leans forward and whines.

"Shh, shh, pet, he's done with you. Lean back, now. You've earned your treat, I think." Ned loops a finger around Boyd's collar and pulls him back against his chest. His grip on his thighs goes slack and shifts, with one arm securing Boyd's abdomen in a firm hold, balancing him, and the other hand loops loosely around Boyd's cock. Boyd arches into his touch--the first time he's been touched tonight. When Ned's voice comes again, it's hot and low and close to Boyd's ear. "I'm going to fuck you now and they're going to watch. How's that sound? Do you want that?"

Boyd grinds down and arches up again, torn between which sensation he wants to chase. "Yes," Boyd breathes, "yes I want that, _please_."

Ned gives a lazy, loose stroke--a promise. "Who do you belong to?" He says this a bit louder so the others can hear.

Boyd's voice is thin when he answers, "You, yours, I'm yours, all yours."

He's rewarded with a firmer stroke, and Boyd cries out. It's so little so late and he's not going to last long. He can hear the smile in his voice, against his ear, when Ned says, "Show them."

It's all the permission Boyd needs to start bouncing in Ned's lap. His whole body aches like he's been on the run, chest heaving and close to bursting, legs quivering with exertion and ready to fail. He fucks himself on Ned's cock, takes the pleasure he's earned for his good behavior. He lets himself be loud because he knows Ned likes hearing him fall apart, and Boyd likes being vocal, not to mention they have an audience now. The verbal vomit goes something like, _Ned, Ned, yes, fuck, Ned, yes, fuck me, fuck me, touch me, fuck, fuck, fuck, there, fuck me there, right there, please Ned, Ned, God please--_

"Do you think you deserve to cum?" Boyd doesn't register the question as anything but rhetorical until Ned slaps his ass to punctuate. "Answer me, pet. Do you think I should let you cum?"

"I--I--want to. Tried to be good. Please, I did everything you asked."

"You did, pet, you did so well." Ned fucks up into him faster, pulls down on Boyd's hips so every thrust is bone-jarring, almost painful, but so good and so needed. "So obedient, so patient. Go on, then. Cum on my cock."

Boyd lets go of the armrest to touch himself, trusting Ned to hold him steady, and it takes so little before he's cumming, ab-aching and ball-emptying. His twitching legs finally do give out with the way it wracks his whole body, leaving Ned to support his full weight. He keeps rutting into Boyd in quick, shallow movements that are no longer focused on Boyd's pleasure or comfort, tipping towards brutal in his search for his own peak, and when he gets there, he groans, long and low. It's a beautiful sound.

Several heartbeats pass before Ned pulls out, and Boyd is empty and leaking cum into his lap. Ned doesn't seem to care at all. He pulls Boyd's naked body against his chest, holds him firmly and strokes up and down his torso in soothing, repetitive motions. The electricity that's buzzing all over Boyd's skin, just beneath the surface, narrows and dissipates under Ned's touch. His legs ache. His jaw is sore. His eyes close against the dim firelight, and he is completely inside his own mind and body, existing outside of time and yet fully in the moment.

He doesn't know how much time passes like that, curled against Ned while doing his best impression of a purring housecat, but he knows that when he opens his eyes next, the guests have been dismissed and the fire is reduced to glowing embers. He blinks blearily and shifts. Ned noses at his hair.

"Are you with me, dear?"

"Mmh. 'm with ya." His tongue is so heavy in his mouth.

"Good, good." A few strokes down his body. When had that throw blanket gotten there? "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Mmyeah. Felt nice. Feel nice." He tries to swallow and his dry throat clicks with the effort. A glass of water is in front of him before he can say anything.

"I'll prepare some warm salt water for you once you feel like moving."

"Thanks." He shifts again so he's sitting more upright and lets Ned tip the glass to his lips. He drinks deeply and greedily. His skin feels weird beneath the blanket, and he realizes it's probably due to all the sweat and cum. God, he's so sticky.

"I'm certain a bath is in order, too," says Ned, apparently reading his mind.

"It sure fuckin' is."

Ned chuckles and presses a kiss to his temple.

"I want the good salts, too. And sandalwood."

"Of course, dear. Anything you like."

Later, when Boyd is yet more lucid, they will debrief. Boyd will suggest excluding Mihael from the next gathering, and Ned will wholeheartedly agree between apologies and kisses. For now, though, he relaxes into the promise of a steaming bath, and gently floats to the surface.


End file.
